


when the autumn moon is bright

by blackkat



Series: TobiObi Drabbles [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, First Kiss, First Meetings, Friendship, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The ragged black wolf is back.Tobirama watches it out of the corner of his eye, tracing its skulking path along the edge of the treeline. Scouting, he thinks, but that’s too bold a word for what this is; this wolf isn't the advance guard of some invading pack, but a wolf on its own, starving and desperate.





	when the autumn moon is bright

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: TobiObi werewolf soulmates!

The ragged black wolf is back.

Tobirama watches it out of the corner of his eye, tracing its skulking path along the edge of the treeline. Scouting, he thinks, but that’s too bold a word for what this is; this wolf isn't the advance guard of some invading pack, but a wolf on its own, starving and desperate.

Behind him, the door of the cabin swings open, emitting a wash of light and a steady curl of music. A moment later, a beer bottle is dangled in front of Tobirama’s nose, and he looks up the fall of dark hair into a smiling face.

“Had enough of the fresh air yet?” Hashirama jokes.

With a snort, Tobirama reaches up, acts like he’s about to take the bottle, and instead gives his brother’s hair a sharp tug. Hashirama squawks, and with a smirk Tobirama steals the beer from his fingertips and takes a sip.

“We’ve missed too many weekends up here,” Tobirama says, glancing up through the veil of trees to where the moon is sailing above the treetops, a few days away from full. He can feel the pull of it, like his blood is the tide being dragged towards the highest point of the shore, and he breathes through it, closing his eyes.

Usually, all he can smell this far from humans is forest and family. But tonight, caught on the breeze, there's the scent of a stranger.

With a huff, Hashirama flops down beside him, dangling his feet of the edge of the porch and shoving at Tobirama’s bent knee. Tobirama shoves him back, then ducks his swat. He isn't quite fast enough to dodge the arm Hashirama wraps around his neck, though, and with an offended hiss he’s dragged down into a headlock, pinned at Hashirama’s side even though he struggles.

Hashirama gives it a minute to prove his point, then loosens his grip, and Tobirama huffs angrily at him and scrambles to sit up, smoothing out his ruffled hair. “Bastard,” he hisses.

“Crochety old man,” Hashirama retorts, unperturbed, and grins when Tobirama makes a face at him. Just for a moment, his eyes flicker past the edge of the lawn, and he pauses. Draws in a breath, and Tobirama’s always had sharper senses, but even with a wolf’s regular nose there's no way to miss the presence of the stranger.

“Still there?” he murmurs, and dark eyes are more serious than they should be, solemn as he looks at Tobirama.

Tobirama huffs, retrieving his beer. “He hasn’t left the woods,” he says, equally soft. “I’d say he’s waiting for everyone to go to bed.”

“Well, given that Tōka and Mito just started a marathon of the Blade movies, it might be a while,” Hashirama says with good humor, and leans back, turning his face up to the sky. For a moment, Tobirama is almost convinced that he can see a shadow of the wolf hiding beneath his brother’s skin, a thousand autumn shades wound through with earthy brown.

“Any others?” Hashirama asks, and he doesn’t look back at the forest but his attention is on it even so. Tobirama can read the slant of his brother’s body, the way he’s just a little more alert than he was a moment ago, and irritation aimed at the strange wolf rises with a crackling sort of heat. Their weekends up here are supposed to be an escape from the city, a time to ease their senses back down and rebuild the pack’s bonds; an intruder has no place in that.

“No,” he says, a little darkly, and twists the neck of his bottle between his fingers. “Not yet.”

“Maybe not ever,” Hashirama says, almost gently, and when Tobirama shoots him an annoyed look, he smiles. “Wolves do leave their packs, Tobirama.”

“Or are driven out,” Tobirama retorts. He turns, glancing towards a flicker of motion by the woodshed, and watches with narrowed eyes as a dark shape slips around the back. A square of light from the cabin catches on dark fur, showing broad stripes of white grown in like fur across scar tissue, and Tobirama frowns.

“Sometimes,” Hashirama says, curling his fingers over Tobirama’s wrist, “they leave, too.”

Tobirama blows out an aggravated breath, but inclines his head. Rises to his feet, then offers Hashirama a hand up. “You said Mito and Tōka were watching Blade?”

“You know they’re just going to heckle,” Hashirama warns, but smiles up at him. “I’m all right. I think I’ll stay out here for a bit and enjoy the moonlight.”

“Suit yourself.” Tobirama steps back, then pauses, casting a look at the woodshed. There's a path down to the river behind it, a small shed where they store kayaks during the winter, and Tobirama can't help but think that it would make a decent bolt-hole for a wolf in search of a place to sleep. For a moment he considers walking down to check if that’s where the strange wolf has gone, but—

Well. It’s a long walk down there, and Tobirama has had enough beer to be pleasantly fuzzy, even with a werewolf’s metabolism. He turns back to the cabin, deciding to leave it for the morning.

When he steps back into the house, Mito and Tōka are curled together on the couch, so tangled it’s hard to tell whose limbs are whose. They're sharing a bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine, and Tōka is already laughing. Kawarama is sprawled in the worn armchair, book propped on the arm, while Itama is in the kitchen, humming to himself.

“You know no one is going to wander away the night before the full moon,” Kakuzu says pointedly, passing Tobirama to pull his shoes on. “Relax.”

Tobirama ignores the bite to his voice; Hashirama’s lover has an even worse temper than he does. “That wolf is back,” he tells him instead, and Kakuzu’s eyes narrow dangerously. Just for a moment, Tobirama can feel the heat of him, can almost see a curl of smoke rising, and it eases his own concern a little; dragons don’t take threats to the things in their care lightly, and after so many years, Kakuzu most certainly considers the whole pack his. Even if he’ll never admit it.

“Hashirama hasn’t gone up and tried to pet it yet? I'm astonished,” Kakuzu mutters, and slams out the door like he’s going to start a fight. Tobirama just rolls his eyes; the moment Kakuzu is close enough, Hashirama will plaster himself all over him, and whatever point Kakuzu was going to make will be lost to their gooeyness. It’s horrifying.

There’s a quiet laugh, and in the doorway of the kitchen, Itama cocks his head. “They're cute,” he says.

Tobirama pulls a face, entirely unwilling to call Kakuzu anything even vaguely related to _cute_. “They're idiots,” is his verdict.

Itama laughs. “Well, that too,” he agrees, and the beep of a timer going off calls him back into the other room. With nothing better to do, and all the seats in front of the TV occupied, Tobirama follows him, breathing in the almost overwhelming smell of Itama's infamous peanut butter chocolate cookies. There’s a batch of oatmeal raisin already cooling on the counter, and he steals one without shame, even though it makes Itama give him a disappointed look.

“Kushina isn't coming this month?” he asks, because even if Hashirama is undeniably the leader of their pack, Itama is the organizer.

Itama laughs, setting the baking tray on the counter beside Tobirama. Tobirama eyes it, debating the cost of burned fingers, but reluctantly leaves the cookies to cool for the moment. Molten peanut butter is more of a risk than he prefers to take with his mouth. “She said she might come, and bring a guest, too. A swanmane, I think. They just started dating. And Ashura will be here in the morning. He’s picking Tsunade up at the airport before he drives up.”

Tsunade coming means she’ll likely be dragging her friends with her as well, which is enough to make Tobirama snort. The combination of Orochimaru, Jiraiya, and Tsunade together removes any sense one of them might have on their own, and makes Tobirama wonder how they’ve managed to survive three years of university together already.

“At least they’ll entertain themselves,” he says dryly. “And heal quickly.”

Itama hides a laugh behind one hand. “At least,” he agrees, amused. Pauses, head tipped, and then glances up at Tobirama, a question in his eyes. “That wolf, is he—?”

“Like us?” Tobirama finishes for him, and when Itama nods, he lets out a breath. “I would assume so. It’s difficult to be certain of size in the dark, but I believe he’s larger than a natural wolf. He isn't scared of humans, either.”

Itama frowns, eyes straying towards the window. “Oh,” he says, partway between thoughtful and wary. “Do you think Hashirama will…”

“Adopt him?” Tobirama asks dryly. “He’s already adopted a dragon and several foxes. I believe his record speaks for itself.”

Itama laughs, and Tobirama lets himself smile. The cabin is warm, and the moon is almost full; it’s easier to breathe now than it ever is elsewhere, and with pack all around, Tobirama finally feels free to let himself, even with a threat outside.

Obito wonders if he’s really desperate enough to steal food from _humans_.

It’s a stupid question. Of course he is, or he wouldn’t have spent the last three days circling the cabin, waiting for any sign of the people there leaving, even for a few hours. They don’t seem to be in any hurry to vacate the property, though, and there are so _many_ of them that Obito doesn’t quite dare to get closer. Someone further down the mountain already reported his presence, and he had to keep moving despite the den he’d set up. Had to _flee_, and the whole way Madara's dark anger had nipped at his heels, pushed him on.

_No one will ever take you in, a lost wolf, destined to die like a stray dog in the gutter somewhere. Your only use is—_

A growl bubbles up from his throat, low and angry but wounded, too. Too pathetic a sound, a kicked dog’s reaction to a threat, and Obito hunkers down in the dead leaves of past autumns, trying to force himself to breathe, trying to keep the panic at bay by sheer will. He’s _angry_, so angry, at the Uchiha pack and at Madara and at the whole damned world, but—

At himself most of all, because Rin lost her sealskin, Rin lost her connection to the ocean, Rin lost her _magic_ and it’s all his fault.

Better for Obito not to be human, knowing that. Better for him to live as a wolf, to stay away.

He’s just so _hungry_ right now.

The slam of a door makes him raise his head, watching as two men emerge from the cabin. Both big, tall and broad, dark-haired, but the one with longer hair has his arm looped through the other man’s, and he’s laughing. Leaning in, smiling, and the other man is trying to look away but can't quite manage it.

Obito tracks their path down the rutted dirt road that rises towards the higher slopes of the mountain, cautious but not expecting them to turn into the forest. They're dressed for a hike, caught up in each other, and something in Obito aches at the sight, but he crushes it down. Watches until they're out of sight, then turns back to the cabin. Two of the women left earlier, taking one of the cars, and the trio of loud friends—well, two loud friends and a quieter, exasperated one—nearly gave him a heart attack this morning when they appeared at the storage shed where he was sleeping. He’d escaped through a gap in the wall while they were arguing over kayaks and routes to the lake, heart racing, but—

With the other two women out by the meadow, and the pair of younger men chopping firewood, and now this departure, that means the cabin is empty, and Obito can finally risk stealing some food.

Almost unwilling to believe it, Obito waits, frozen in the leaves for a long, long moment. There's no sign of movement from within, though, no lights on, no one close. If he doesn’t move now, Obito might as well simply give up, and he has no idea where else to find food on this mountain. Hunting rabbits and squirrels will only tide him over for so long, and if he can get even a little extra, maybe something to hide away for a little while, he might be able to hunker down long enough to get some strength back.

Carefully, cautiously, Obito creeps forward, low to the ground and ready to bolt the second he hears something. There are only distant voices, though, far enough away to know that they won't be back soon, and Obito can hardly believe his luck. He slides along the edge of the trees to the closest point, then pauses there. Still no movement from inside the cabin, and he takes a handful of steps, then gives in and bolts.

In a blur, he’s across the open ground and up the steps. The front door is still ajar, and he shoulders through it, pauses. Being in a house again after so many months as a wolf is almost frightening, and Obito has to steel himself as he steps forward, breathing in. He can’t hear anyone in the cabin, can't smell anything except a pile of food left on the table. Breakfast leftovers, with poached eggs and toast and bacon, and he can't think of what to take, wants all of it, but doesn’t dare shift back—

A growl. Low, heavy like thunder, loud enough to make every instinct Obito has cower down. He wrenches around, and stops short, frozen stiff.

There’s a wolf on the landing. Not a dog, not anything tame. A huge wolf, as big as any werewolf Obito has ever met, with white fur that practically glows under the light and red eyes. its hackles are up, its teeth are bared, and Obito has one half-second to feel true panic at war with fury before reason reasserts itself. He’s starving, weak, and the whole right side of his body aches with the approach of a storm. There’s no way he can fight a bigger wolf, sleek and muscular, in his state, and even if the scrappy bastard Obito has always been wants to _try_, he’s clever enough to know it won't end well.

In light of that, it’s only reasonable to turn tail and bolt.

With a vicious snarl, the other wolf gives chase, and Obito curses to himself. Streaks for the trees, sliding sideways around a vast oak, and takes off towards the river. Behind him, there’s a shout, but Obito can see the white wolf out of the corner of his eye and isn't about to stop. Down the hill, past the shed, along the bank, and it’s deep, a quick current, but upstream the rapids get shallower and he can cross—

A howl breaks the crisp air, one long, wavering note that sends pure, vicious alarm crashing through Obito's nerves. That’s not _just_ a wolf, that’s a wolf calling to the pack, and it’s not the white bastard on his tail.

He didn’t just stumble on a wolf, he stumbled on a _werewolf pack_. He was stealing from another pack, and Obito thinks with a sinking, furious resignation that he’s never fucked up quite so thoroughly before.

Another howl answers, then another, then a third, fourth. Obito snarls, more at himself than anything, and turns sharply, leaping across the river and onto a stone that’s mostly clear of the water. Leaps again—

A white shape tackles him, slams him into the far bank with a bone-rattling tackle, and Obito can’t stop his yelp. Jerks, twists, but the white wolf is on top of him with teeth at his throat, and he’s sleeker and leaner than Obito but still stronger, pins Obito with a deadly snarl, and Obito feels the bite of teeth against his vulnerable throat. They sink through his fur, skim skin, and with a gasp Obito goes still, shuddering, _waiting_—

But the other wolf doesn’t rip his throat out. Stays there, keeping him pinned, and the low growl the vibrates up from his throat shivers through Obito. Unable to stop a whimper, Obito curls underneath him, showing his belly, hoping that that’s enough, that he isn't about to be torn to shreds.

The white wolf doesn’t make any move to do so, though. There's a long, long moment of perfect silence, and then he lifts his head, red eyes fixed on Obito. Obito pins his ears flat back against his head, not sure how else he can surrender but willing to try, and whines.

Slowly, with a ripple like a heat mirage, the wolf’s body starts to shift, change. Fur slides away, limbs crack and reform, and a moment later a man is in the wolf’s place, white-haired and red-eyed and cold.

“Change,” he orders, and the sharp edge to his voice is a warning. Obito closes his eyes, and—it’s been _months_ since he took human form, but he’s been caught. There are more wolves coming, and if he’s going to have any chance of getting out of this with his hide intact, he needs to go along with them.

The change is hard. Harder than Obito remembers, difficult to grasp like trying to catch slippery threads, especially with the full moon so close. Still, Obito has never let something being difficult stop him, and he grits his teeth and _forces_ it, shoving through the tearing ache of muscle contorting, reforming. It _hurts_, and he cries out, digging claws into the earth as it washes over him—

Digging _fingers_ into the earth, naked and clawless. For a moment Obito curls on the rocky ground, trembling at the ache, and groans at the cold bite to the air against bare skin, the pull of his scars, the vertigo of everything suddenly being dulled, dimmed, _human_ when he’s so used to a wolf’s senses.

Curled over him, braced against the rocks, the white-haired man draws in a sharp breath, and Obito turns to look at him out of his good eye and just _stops_.

_Oh_, something in him whispers, and it feels like recognition, like a sudden thunderbolt of realization. Red eyes are wide, stunned, and Obito doesn’t feel much better. He stares back, caught entirely off guard, and—

It’s not supposed to happen to people like him. not supposed to happen to _wolves_ like him. The pure bloodlines are the ones with mates, with a connection to another soul, moon-touched and mystical. It’s not supposed to be the sort of thing a half-breed mutt like Obito is meant for, but—

But Obito looks up at this man, and it’s like everything inside of him _knows_ him, sudden and sharp and _desperate_.

With a breathless, disbelieving huff, the man lifts a hand, and Obito flinches despite himself when hot fingers brush his scarred cheek. Instantly, the man freezes, and Obito closes his eyes, cursing at himself.

“No,” he says, and his voice is too rough with disuse, barely understandable. “Just—I'm not—it’s been—”

A breath, realization and wry amusement, and the man leans down. Presses his nose to the curve of Obito's throat, but instead of a threat this is just comfort. His breath is warm, and it makes some of the panic in the back of Obito's head ease just a little. “We’re not meant to be one or the other,” he says, not quite chiding, and a hand settles over Obito's bare hip, curls against his skin. Obito shivers, can't help himself; it’s been _years_ since someone touched him for anything but violence at this point, and he sucks in a breath, tries to strangle the urge to grab the man and haul him down.

“Shh,” the man murmurs, right against his skin, and lifts his head. Sits back, sliding off of Obito, and Obito makes an aborted sound of desperation, grabs for him before he can remember himself—

A red-marked hand catches his, hauls him up and in, and Obito all but collapses against the other wolf’s chest, curling into the heat of his body, burying his nose in skin that smells of leaves and moonlight and _home_ even though Obito's never had a home before.

Long fingers slide into his hair, holding him in place just as footsteps sound, and Obito stiffens but doesn’t try to move. Curls in tighter, if anything, in an attempt to burn this memory into his mind for when he’s chased out.

But there’s no hand on him to haul him away, no growls, no anger. “Well,” a man’s warm voice says, amused, and a spring-scent curls around them, warm like fur and firelight. “I take it he wasn’t a scout for another pack, then.”

Finally, Obito forces himself to look up, right into dark eyes, and the instinct to bare his teeth and bristle is right there, _protect attack escape_ all he can feel at this moment, but the white-haired man just snorts. “Not at all,” he says, and pulls back just enough to look down. Obito looks back, swallowing hard, and the expression on the man’s face is something bewildered, but warm. Still startled, but he spreads a hand across Obito's back like he can't stop touching skin, and breathes out a sound that’s almost a sigh.

“Mito is going to be unbearable,” he mutters, though he doesn’t pull his eyes away from Obito's.

The other man laughs, rising to his feet. “She did say you’d meet someone special up here, didn’t she?” he says. “I’ll go calm everyone down. Do you want the house?”

“Yes,” the white-haired man says without looking away from Obito.

The second man chuckles, shaking his head. “Then we’ll go into town for a few hours. Kushina and Konan could likely use some help with the shopping anyway.”

Finally, the white-haired man pulls his gaze away, lifts his head. “Thank you, Hashirama,” he says, and Hashirama makes a sound of acknowledgement and slips away, soundless across the stones.

“Not worried I'm about to rip your throat out?” Obito asks, and a flicker of self-consciousness has him pushing up, struggling away from the man’s chest. Unfortunately, the man lets him go, eases him off his lap and back to the cold ground, and Obito wraps his arms around himself and shivers, wondering how many mountains back he abandoned his clothes.

“I think,” the man says dryly, “that we already proved how that fight would go.” He cocks his head, surveying Obito with narrowed eyes, and then says, “I'm Tobirama Senju.”

Obito freezes, caught. The Uchiha are a well-known pack, with a vast territory to the south. He isn't entirely sure he could use the name even if he wanted to, though; Fugaku made it very clear that he wasn’t welcome back without a wolf-form, and even after Madara forced him to shift for the first time, learning from their pack’s greatest traitor probably negates learning in the first place.

“Obito,” he finally settles on, and—that’s safer, anyway. Madara is probably still looking for him, ready to drag him back by the throat, and the fact that Obito would rather live out the rest of his days as a wolf rather than go back won't mean anything to the bastard.

But even though Tobirama clearly notices the reticence, he doesn’t mention it. Just reaches out, touching Obito's unscarred cheek, and lets out a low breath.

“You're my…” He pauses, clearly struggling with words, and then pulls a face. “Soulmate,” he manages, though he sounds peeved about it. About the word, more than the facts behind it, and Obito can't help but laugh.

“My pack just called them mates,” he offers, and Tobirama’s expression smooths. 

“Better,” he agrees. “My brother is a romantic idiot. I would rather not use his terms.”

Obito snorts, looks away. “I—I'm not _supposed_ to have a mate,” he says, desperate. “It’s only for purebred wolves, and I'm _not_, so this might be a mistake—”

“No,” Tobirama says, slow, deliberate, thoughtful. “I don’t believe it is.” When Obito glances back at him, he raises a brow, then reaches out, pressing a palm over Obito's heart. It’s practically racing, and Obito has to swallow at the heat of the touch, and the way Tobirama seems to practically fill his senses. From the ragged breath Tobirama draws in, he feels it, too.

“I want you,” he says, and there’s an edge of a growl to it, a sound that vibrates down Obito's spine and curls in his gut. “Everything in me wants you, and that has never happened before.”

Obito closes his eyes, trying to breathe, trying not to just throw himself at Tobirama and _take_. “Damn it,” he mutters, and scrubs his hands over his face. “I—all I wanted was some food, I swear.”

A quiet snort, and Tobirama loops a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him in. when Obito drops his forehead against Tobirama’s shoulder, more than happy to breath in the electric heat of him, he cards his fingers through Obito's hair, making him shiver.

“And now you’ve found far more,” Tobirama says, quiet, and rises to his feet. In the distance, Obito can hear the sound of a car leaving, followed by another, and Tobirama turns to look for a brief moment before he catches Obito's hand and pulls him to his feet. “It seems we have the house to ourselves. Come.”

It’s an order, and from anyone else Obito would bristle, snap. There's nothing harsh is Tobirama’s voice, though, nothing actually commanding, and the word sinks into Obito's skin like soft claws and drives him up without hesitation. On his feet, he freezes, startled, but Tobirama casts him a crooked smirk and grips his elbow, tugging him forward.

“You’ve been without a pack for a long time,” he says, observation rather than accusation, but Obito still tenses, bristles.

“I've _never_ had a pack,” he bites out, a challenge even though he doesn’t mean it to be.

There's a long moment of silence, only the sound of their steps to break it, and Obito closes his eyes, waiting. Waiting for the snap, the snarl, for Tobirama to shake him off, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Tobirama tightens his grip just a little, and says with some amusement, “Be careful saying that around Hashirama. He’ll have adoption papers drawn up before the end of the day, and that would make my feelings for you very awkward.”

Feelings. Because Tobirama _wants_ him, and it doesn’t seem possible, but his grip hasn’t wavered. He hasn’t even stepped away, their shoulders still close enough to brush, and Obito wants to drag him down into the grass and bite and kiss and _take_. He shudders, trying to get a hold on himself, but—

He’s never felt desire like this before. Has never _wanted_ like this, and Tobirama’s _everything in me wants you_ makes far, far too much sense right now.

“Have you ever—” he starts, then stops, not sure how he wants to phrase it.

Thankfully, Tobirama’s breath is amused. “Seen mates find each other?” he asks, and when Obito nods, he snorts. “Yes. My brother went and mated himself to a dragon, so I would question whoever it is that told you such things only happen to those with a particular bloodline. It is a rare thing, but hardly unknown.”

“Oh,” Obito says, caught off guard, and it’s _logical_ that an asshole like Fugaku would lie, that the Uchiha as a whole would be so certain in their superiority as a pack that they would take to such myths, but—somehow, even in the darkest moments, even in the brightest, he’s never thought that they might have lied. Always so much easier to believe what they whispered, to think that was why he wasn’t good enough, had to skulk around the edges of the pack to scrounge up a living. And then, after Rin—

Well. A lot of things happened after Rin.

Rin's horrified face rises in his thoughts, slides to devastation, and guilt rises like a tidal wave. Obito stops short, right in front of the steps up to the cabin, and a deep, nauseating certainty that he’ll ruin this, too, sweeps through him. he looks at Tobirama, who’s turning to look at him, and—

Tobirama has a pack, a family. He’s beautiful, strong, quick, and if Obito stays close he’s going to _ruin_ him.

“I _can't_,” Obito says. Shakes Tobirama’s hand off, takes two steps back, and—

Tobirama’s eyes narrow, and he follows. Two steps, then a third, until he’s right in front of Obito and almost close enough to touch. “You can't?” he asks, raising a brow, pointed. His expression is cool, but the hand he curls over Obito's bare hip is hot, and Obito has to rein in a shiver. “Or you don’t think you should?”

“What’s the difference?” Obito bites out, but he can't pull away. Doesn’t want to, and isn't strong enough to make himself.

“Everything,” Tobirama says simply, then steps back, lets go.

The absence of his warmth feels like a loss, and Obito only just manages not to drag him back in.

“You are still your own person,” Tobirama says, holding his gaze. “Our connection doesn’t change that. If you truly want to leave, I won't stop you. But if you only _feel_ that you must, remember that this pack contains a dragon, two foxes, a snake, and Jiraiya, beyond just the wolves. We are stronger for it, too.” His expression twists, just for a moment, and he reaches out. the backs of his fingers brush Obito's scars, and he says, “All are welcome here, regardless of where they come from. Hashirama makes certain of it.”

Then, quick, he turns, mounts the steps. Pushes in through the open cabin door, and very deliberately doesn’t close it behind him.

Obito has always, _always_ been a selfish, wretched bastard. It only takes a moment for the want to overwhelm him, the want for everything about Tobirama and everything around him, freely offered even though Obito is death and ruin and rage.

He breathes in, breathes out. Follows, and tries to tell himself that he regrets it.

Tobirama is waiting for him inside, steady, silent. When he reaches out, Obito reaches back, and Tobirama drags him in, bare skin against bare skin, just as hungry as Obito feels, and the shock of it is electric, impossible. Obito gasps, jerks, but Tobirama kisses him, and there’s moon-white hair and the smell of another wolf in his senses, that soul-deep sense of _I know you I **want** you_, hands just tipped with claws digging into his back, teeth and tongue and _desire_ so sharp and hot it makes Obito's head spin, and—

Just for a moment he can forget. Can take this, and have it, and when Tobirama presses him up against the wall, all Obito can do is kiss him back and pull him in harder.


End file.
